


Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate

by SheolRephaite



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheolRephaite/pseuds/SheolRephaite
Summary: This is place where I put my feeling and thoughts. It become more of very general diary than aynthing else.





	1. Chapter 1

Inside of my head there is a hole. Black hole. Hole that is so deep that it reaches down to my chest. It’s so big that I sometimes feel like just a piece of skin covering the blackness. When I look into my eyes in the mirror I can the black dot. And when I continue to look it grows bigger. It grows deeper. No matter how long I stare I never reach the end. I can fall into the deep black space and never reaching the bottom.

I was just one of the empty people.

That was when the snakes moved in. Now they live in spaces between my organs. I can feel them shifting between my lungs, my stomach, my heart. Every so often they get scared and they grow, they shift and, in their fear, wrap themselves around my insides. The squeeze and let me hopelessly gasping for one more breath. I don´t know what scares them but I feel sad for them, so I try to let them out. I want to set them free. So, I cut deeper, everyday deeper and deeper, desperately trying to set them free.

I was just living with snakes inside of me.

I have the snakes in my chest but my hole in my head was empty. So, the monster moved in. Most of the days I try to talk to him, sooth him and pet him. And sometimes it just lay down and goes to sleep, I can still feel the thick fur scratching against inside of my skull, with its every peaceful breath. Other times it is awake, and it roars and scratches trying to get away from the black prison. That is when it sends me thoughts, I know he does that and when it screams I just look deep inside of my eyes, and on the monster and say: not today sweetie. And I try to pet him to sooth it back to his sleep.

I was living with monster in my head.

Some days is the monster awake but he doesn´t scream. It simply is there. Sitting and waiting. Watching the world with dead eyes and waiting. He is always so peaceful on days like that. On days like that I sit with him. And both of us are just sitting in the empty space watching the world turn. And I know it, everything what it is, why and what it wants. And I understand. And I want too. I pet him and whisper: one more day.

I sit with my monster and we watch the grey world turning one more day.

On some days the monster goes very quiet, and I miss its voice. I miss his black fur, his scratching and screaming. I miss my suffering, my tormentor and my silent companion. The snakes are worried about it and they climb up to my head and look for it. And I´m scared, so scared that there is no more of the monster. I miss my monster.

I´m not sure there is a monster in my head.

When I walk the empty streets, passing people and watch the grey world turn I can feel it whispering again. It voice differs, and the snakes are turning faster than before. The voice sound like mine and I no longer know where it ends and I begin.

So, I we walk the empty streets with our snakes, me and my monster.

The snakes started gnawing at us. They are eating our heart, our head. Others tell me that my monster ate my head, but I know that I made my monster. I made my monster and it eaten my head, I made it from all the black stuff laying around inside. And I have so much more. I can have army of monsters and turn the world black. But I don´t know how to make them. I was, then it was me and my monster, and now is it just two of us. Walking alone.

Don´t take my monster away. Who else will feed my snakes? Who else knows?

But sometimes my monster scares me. The silent dread slowly climbing up my back. The voice is talking and I´m not sure if it’s me or the monster, we just keep walking. And it moves closer. I can only watch it with my eyes how it moves closer quickly. Finally, I can feel the calm, the snakes and my monster smile and wait for the freedom. It doesn´t move quick enough, not enough, I jump back, and the monster and snakes scream and gnaws at me from inside. And I gnaw on myself from the outside, desperate to let them out. Desperate to let myself out.

I live with my snakes, but I don´t want my snakes.

I´m one with my monster but I don´t want to be because we can´t watch to world waiting. I´m scared of me and the thoughts I put inside of my head. Monster can´t watch and wait with me anymore. I can watch without my monster or we can die together.

Because is time to kill the monster, even if I have to severe part of my body to kill him.

And I will kill my monster, one way or another.

Nobody ever told me that kill my monster is hard. They give me the weapons and they made me sick, then I was better. But they told me that I wasn’t, the world was grey but I no longer wanted to jump down before the train, I just wanted to pluck my fingers out, peel my skin off, I want to pull out every single bone out of my body and just watch the blood leak out, hoping that the snakes and monster will leak out too. I feel better, but monster is still here. Screaming in angry voice that I´m the monster and we need to die together. I got more pills and monster is still there, my snakes are angry too. Today they crawled from my body and wrapped themselves all over me. I couldn´t move and the monster trampled in my mind while they hold me down.

Do you want my snakes? I don’t have anything left to feed them anymore.

Do you want my monster? Because even with my head eaten I could buy a plant. But my monster eaten the last one and there is no more space left. I guess that hole inside of my head has a bottom after all and Its now overflowing with my snakes and my monster.

I´m tired, so tired and I try to wish my snakes and monster away. But they are still gnawing at me. There is more of me than I ever thought. How can no one can see my bones? Or maybe I´m just skin stretched over my monster and my snakes. They are filling me instead of what used to be inside of me, so no one can see.


	2. Chapter 2

I read somewhere that people with depression are only people who see the world realistically. I believe that. Every day I meet one more person full of hopes and illusions. They call themselves a pessimist, optimist, realist or whatever else pleases them. I wish I was like that too. I wish I had my head full of ideas, hopes and dreams. But my world is grey. In my world is everything happy fiction and everybody dies at the end. Some days I´m ok with that. Other days not so much.

How long can you be happy? Even if you live your biggest dream. I really want to know. It so long since I have a dream, goal or just simple wish. I know that I probably wanted things, because everyone does. But I don´t remember them anymore. I finished what I started and I´m standing on the edge of the cliff and don´t know what to do next. There is only black before me and all seems the same. Well, not all.

I said before that I don´t have anything I want. That was a lie. I wish to die. More than anything else I ever wanted. But I try to reason with myself and go living another day. Only thing I want is to throw myself from highest building I can find but I won´t let myself. Joking again. Not jumping from building. Too much junk on the street after that, you have to think about the people who need to clean that. I´m planning something else.

Let me tell you about my second choice first. I always wanted to try drugs. Like really heavy stuff. But I know myself, I can´t trust myself with that. Because I have two modes: never tried or addicted. So, I never tried but always wanted. I will buy a big dose. Big enough to kill someone twice my size. I´m not sure how it’s called in your language, but we call it _golden shot_. It has nice sound. To put it simply, overdose. I get to try, and I get to die. It sounds amazing.

Now to my first choice. It will be a gun, mainly because of the way they will find my body. When I overdose I need some time alone to be sure no one will try to save me but when the time will be too much, another person would find me decomposing, which is just traumatizing and not something I want to do to them. Gun. Sound easy. Not so much because we can´t carry a weapon. Suck if you ask me, but on the other hand I would be dead right now if I had one. But we have shooting range near the place where I live. I can walk in there, give them some change and get a gun for thirty minutes. More time and bullets than I need. I´m almost ecstatic on images of doing that. Does everyone have that or it is just monster in my head?

I can´t tell anymore. I don´t remember exactly when that happened but over time I become someone who no longer wants to live. Before all I had in my head were reasons why I should kill myself, today I desperately search for reasons why I shouldn´t. And finding pretty much nothing, only how my dead could inconvenient other people. But people die all the time, and everyone just gets on with their lives. Then why should my dead should be that much different? This is real question, because I don´t see one. They will cry, go to my funeral, work longer hours at work, etc. but they will be fine after a while. Why I should I suffer in this miserable existence we call human life just to save them a few days of grieving or inconvenience. GO FUCK YOURSELF. I WANT TO DIE.

Sorry I was mean at you, it wasn´t about you. And I´m sorry I get away from what I was talking about with my fantasies about suicide. It felt nice to get out anyway.

My high school friend just had a child. And plans another. She made another person. And that person will live, go to school, work and die. And probably will suffer a lot during all of these things. And will be happy too. And most of the time just will be, not happy, not sad, just will be. What is the point? So that he can make another person? And that person another person? For some time, I thought it’s about happiness but that seems selfish and impossible to feel for a long period of time. Then what else is here? God? Family? State? It doesn´t make sense.

Everything that makes sense to me is annihilation of suffering. But you eradicate it by never being born, not living. Nonexistence. My dream. My only wish. I hate my parents for being born, I don´t blame them but deep down I hate them. There is no free will and I wish I was never born. Thoughts of suicide are amazing but not what I really want. Because I was already here, and I suffered, and will suffer a lot more before dying (with high probability by my hand). I wish I was never here, that I didn´t have to deal with all this.

I´m sick of this world and don´t want to be part of this anymore.

I feel lucid. I feel sane. I feel rational. But supposedly this is my depression talking. I feel fine, I just want to die. Does that make me insane? Society tells me yes. Okay I get it. But there isn´t anything I can do about the way I turned up. I´m who I´m and I´m doing my best with what I have. I try. But it’s hard and I just want to be like everybody else. I want to feel, I want to dream, and I want to hope. But I don´t get to do any of that. I feel dead inside and hope to die while I dream about nonexistence.


	3. Chapter 3

I try very hard to seem normal. Few days back I told one of my co-workers that I´m on antidepressants. He said that that makes sense because I´m so peaceful and calm all the time. I didn´t have the heart to tell him that it is because I´m suicidal ninety percent of the time. I don´t have the heart to tell him that I felt any emotion (not including despair and self-hatred) for the last time two years ago. How would you felt when someone told you that every contact you had with them since you met was fake? Every laugh? Every compassion? Everything fake?

I don´t want to tell them. I don´t want them to know that I´m fake person.

I didn’t tell him what is wrong with me even when he asked. I just wave my hand and said, “a lot”. Because I don´t know what’s wrong with me. Chronic depression with acute phases that can last weeks. Anxiety that lefts me barely functional on best days. Personality disorder, which come as no surprise for me but still it hurts. You are nor right as a person, society telling me that the way I´m is wrong. I don´t feel wrong but I´m probably wrong. Everyone else seems happy with their life, just me not so much. I also think that my doctor has paranoia written down somewhere in my file, but that is maybe my paranoia talking.

I never told her about the sounds that aren’t there I hear when I work, walk home or ride the bus. I never told her about the shadows I see on the edge of my vision. And I never told her about the feeling when I lay down or walk home that something is following me. But it’s okay, even if it’s real I wish to die, and I don´t fear anything that follows me.

I love the words barely functional. It sums my last few years. Barely functional. I love them, and I loathe them, both the same measure. I wish I was better. I wish I could just wake up, get out of bed and do stuff. But I don´t. I lay hours in the mornings, crying and don´t have enough energy to turn on my back. It takes me hour to get up. What kind of excuse is that, when you come late to work? Sorry I´m late, guys. It took my two hours to stop crying and convince myself to kill myself after work. Can you tell something like that to anybody?

I will work night shift with him today and all I can think about is what I should tell him when he asks. Should I tell him that I´m crazy? Should I tell him that my brain is trying to kill me?

My brain is broken. I still don´t know if it’s my fault or no. Could I broke my brain? With what? Can you break flesh with thoughts? I never realize how fragile thing my brain is till he broke. I´m my brain. Does that mean I´m broken?

I hate taking a pills. I hate that I´m dependent on something that much. I put a lot of trust in them and they didn´t delivered. I wasn´t expected to be happy, I just expected that they will take my monster away. I was sick and waited and waited and monster is still with me.

My doctor asked me if I felt better. I´m not sure. They say two to five weeks till the meds start working. It was my seventh week and she asked me. I just get out of my really bad week and all the cuts were red and painful. Deep enough to sting for a long time and leaving behind skin that no longer hold together and shows red gap on my white skin. I cut deeper every bad week and I know that one week I will have enough. I take the blade to my artery and open it. Letting my life leak out of me. Anyway, I think about suicide a lot. I try to take my thought on different path, path of sunshine and cute puppies. I thought about what she asked and said yes. I don´t know why, I was as destructive as always. When I walked home and lit my cigarettes I wanted to put the hot end to my eye, when I rolled my sleeve up and touched my fingers I wanted to rip them off. My thoughts shifted from suicide to mutilation. I was expecting more from the meds.

Anyhow I have to head to the work in few minutes. I hoped I will feel better when I share this, writing sometimes helps me. Sharing it is about me telling true to the other humans. I feel horrible to bother another person with my problems, even if it’s my doctor. It took my two years and suicide attempt to reach out for a help. And waited months till someone had time to see me. I try to repair my brain, but I just feel sick of this world and want to die. Trying is hard and death would be easy. I try in my good days much more because the rest I´m not able.

I will tell him when he asks. He probably won´t understand what I mean when I say depression and anxiety, but I will tell him. He will imagine me being sometimes sad and nervous and think me weak for not being able to handle that without meds. Some days I think I´m. Other days I hold the names for my DISEASE tight and swearing that I don´t let go. I have a disease, like diabetes. I need to take care of my disease and can live good life with it. Like allergy on peanuts. I will stay away from peanuts and will be fine. I just don´t know what my peanuts are because depression doesn´t work like that.

I hope that he ask more about my disease. I fear that I will be too scared tell him, but when one person shows that my disease is real, maybe I will tell other people. Maybe I wouldn´t have to lie all the time.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't remember the last day I didn't feel like crying. I never cried that much before but now I do it almost every day. I have moment when I go from work where I don't have to smile for anyone, it feels great to let my features to relax, pull my hood on and be just miserable before I start to act again for my roommate. Then the quiet time in the shower where I am only in my head, no music, no other distraction I let my tears out. I don´t have a reason, I just feel like a miserable shit that don´t deserve to exist, that should offend everyone by breathing and kill myself just to relieve them from having to look at me.

I hate the crying. I would love to cry for a good reason. Few months back my beloved dog died. It was almost instant, and no one expected that. She was in lot of pain in the end. I wasn´t there in the end, just my mom called me and told me. I had shitty day, the day when you feel nothing. And just take it in and felt nothing. I loved that dog and I couldn´t grieve. I cry almost every day but when I´m supposed, when it would be good I couldn’t.

At the beginning I enjoyed every good day. Once someone told me to cherish them, and I did, at the beginning. When I had more good days than bad days, when I had good day once a week, once every two weeks. But now. I don´t even know how good day feels. It was three months since the last one and the memory faded long time ago.

Sometimes I feel like I´m having a good day, my energy is fine, but the thoughts are still there. I still hate myself, I still want to cause myself so much pain and I want to die. One time I head to someone call them fake good days. You can do stuff but still feel like a shit, it’s the day I´m most probable to kill myself, because I can do stuff.

When I finally have a good day, I realize how much worse I´m every other day. I walk down the street, listen to good music and have slight smile on my face because I saw gorgeous spotty dog. I love those. I even stop and pet him when is it ok with his owner. The sun shines and the world is ok. I can laugh on a good joke, enjoy good movie and savour delicious food. I feel joy when I buy myself a new shirt and anger when someone treats me unfairly. It feels amazing. Is it how everyone feels most of the time? How can you complain about everyday stuff like your care broke or you didn´t get to sit in a bus? I would kill, literally kill to feel like that for the whole week.

I still enjoy them, I spend money like crazy and drown in emotions like an addict. But rest of the time I hate them and wish them gone. I know I don´t make sense. I know that I have one day in few months, when I´m lucky, and then I´m back. My crying suicidal self. I despite them as much as I love them. When there would be none I could pretend that this how I´m supposed to feel, this is normal. And I would probably kill myself after few years. But this good days remind me that life is supposed to be better. Like giving a bite of pizza to the starving, drop of water to the dying of thirst. I love them more than everything and hate them even more. And thanks to that I feel like killing myself now because I´m not getting better. I will never be better, and this is my life till the minute I kill myself.

I´m starving for emotions, to feel the world, to be real. Father, I want to a real boy, well girl. I want to feel real and part of this world. I want to live or to die. But right now, I´m stuck in between, appearing living but dead inside.

When they talk about depression this is what I almost never hear. The dead feeling inside of my that nothing in this world can affect. Dead inside. People use when joking but this how I feel, this is how I am. Please don´t use it. Don´t take only thing that defines how I´m at least a little. Don´t take name of disease to describe how you feel when something trivial happens to you. These words have deep meaning for me, they are filled with sleepless nights full of crying, my blood leaking out of my wounds, full of desperations and starvation to feel something. My disease made my everyday life more than is bearable and you use as a joke. Funny, how this won´t make me cry. Because I´m dead inside and I want to die.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm no longer sure who I'm. I just don't. I used to be this person, I was fine, I had hobbies, reading, playing video games, used to ride a horse a lot. Loved to watch good movie and go for a run, and did gymnastics.  I no longer enjoy any of it. Most of the days I just wish my life was over. I'm too tired to do anything. Good food taste like sand, movies are very far from reality that it makes me gag. I found even horror movies are too fucking optimistic. Only video games I play these days are horror one. I still feel the fear when is something happening, and I love that feeling because it's a feeling. 

Who I'm? The person I was before or person who I'm now? I no longer know, I feel like the crying suicidal me but I don't want to. I want to be person again. I want to feel, I want to have hobbies and live. I said before that I'm stuck between living and being dead. Walking dead. I watched that show and I get what they meant. Walking dead. 

Sometimes I have strange thoughts. In my work place we did voting few weeks back about who were people there scare the most. Most of them went with Zuzka but one. Our boss. He went with me to the confusion of others. I'm the most peaceful and calm person they ever met and were left staring at our boss like he went crazy. He explained them that Zuzka has a short fuse and will yell at you because of one bad sentence. I on the other hand need more to get really pissed but when someone finally pisses me to my limit I won't yell. I will follow you home and shoot you before shooting myself. I don't have any idea how he get to know me so well. They were all watching me with this scrutinising look, thinking if our boss was serious. We laughed and know very well that he was and it's something I would done. 

I don't understand my thoughts. When I go through shopping mall full of people I wish I had knife and could slaughter some of them. Brief image of how I dig the knife into neck artery of women that stands closest. When I ride the bus and see teenage boy siting, staring into his phone I want to grab his head and bang it on the window till he can't no longer stand. When I stand on the balcony, smoking, I wish I had a gun and I would take a deed breath and aim at group of college  students siting around in circle and talking. Just a random thoughs and images showing in my mind. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe if I was less crazy, that meaning my depression gone, I would be seriall killer. 

But I don't remember having these kind of thoughts before. I hate people, all of them. Just hate them nothing personal but still my hatred burns hot as a sun. Maybe my thoughts  comes from that place. I don't know why I hate you all. Maybe because you can feel alive when I can't. My hatred comes from envy, probably, there are other stuff because humans sucks, rape, torture, necrofilia, pedofiliapa, wars, starvation and obesity, greed and poverty, just everything that makes people, but it starts with my envy. 

Did I always hated people? I know answer for that and it's no. What happened to me over these years? There is nothing too traumatic about my life. My childhood wasn't good but it wasn't bad. High school wasn't that bad either, had its good moments. I actually enjoyed college. Nothing really bad happened to me. Then why I'm I like this? 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sometimes I look into the mirror and think that I look like a fucking zebra. I even tell it in English because you say zebra funny way. there is so many stripes on my skin. One next to the other, one longer than the other and one deeper than the other. I hate the scars, it just reminds me that I´m fucked up in the head. Who the fuck cuts himself in twenty-two? I´m not some teenager who is acting out. Just pain helps me. I said that I starve the emotions, the pain feels good. Did you ever go through hard time and enjoyed getting a tattoo? Little pain to feel sharp physical instead of emotional pain.

Fucking zebra.

I can´t no longer keep the edge of my skin together, I would need stiches or the next thing (they don´t go through the skin, just like slim tape holding the edges together. We call them ribbons and I´m too lazy to look up how are they called in English). It’s not like I would go to see doctor, he would send me to the psych ward and closed me there, getting me one medication after another and I would no longer could lie to everyone I know about being fine.

The scars are red and I hate them. I cut on my thighs, high enough to hide it under my shorts. And on my stomach, because I don´t strip before anyone. On my shoulders because I usually don´t wear tank tops. I will laugh to the dead on the faces of everyone when they would see me in my underwear. I lost count of the scars and even don´t bother to count.

Fucking zebra.

Just weird colour, the angry red on almost white skin. People tell me I have nice skin, like a doll. White and clear. Where they can see. Rest of me is zebra. Some weird hybrid between a doll and zebra. I just get that animal whole new meaning in my head.

Anyway, today I found turtledove nest outside on my new balcony. She is all white and has the little birds, still bald and looking so weak. I stare at them for hours. I used to love watching animals, just watch them. I still do that, but I don´t feel the wonder and amazement. But at least it isn´t anger and random violent flashes.

I hate to be with myself. I try to fill every waking minute with something. Pretty much ANYTHING. If there was only porn I would watched that even through I´m basically asexual.

Anyway, today isn’t all that bad. I have only one more stripe at me and he no longer bleeds. I wrote more of my actual story and moved on other end of the dormitory.

Fucking zebra.


	7. Chapter 7

Bits and pieces what I found in my phone

Today when I was walking to the bus stop I had one of my flashes. The razor digging deep into my skin, right into the artery. I´m not sure you understand, it isn’t some kind of wishful fantasy, it feels like a need. Not like thirst or hunger, not like feeling I could go for a smoke. It’s a need. It burns and makes me move without me thinking about whatever I´m about to do.

I was standing few months back on the train station, I watch how the train moves closer and I felt this alien urge to jump down before it. I don´t know where that come from, just it was. Like the reflex making you to move away from hot surface when you burn yourself, shiver in the cold, eat something when you hungry. You don´t question them, you just act. I avoid going out of my room on a bad day, and on my unfeeling days and my fake good days. Well pretty much every day. What am i supposed do? Go out and kill myself because I´m fuck up in the head or stay home with myself even through I hate myself and drive myself insane? Good fucking question. Of course, I go out, I have to work, go to school and lab. I need sometimes buy a food (mostly plain bread because when everything tastes like sand then why spend the money. And that, my friends, is definition of low maintenance). Anyhow I go out. Some days I even don´t know what kind of day I have, not like it matters. I have either shitty day or worse.

I look on both side before crossing the road. And I keep walking no matter if there is a car coming and I think that doesn´t have time to stop. Some days I rational and stop myself. But I don´t feel the need to stay out from danger, I just don´t care. Sometimes I intentionally step into the way when I think that the car doesn´t have time to stop. When I´m safely on other side I make a short bitter laugh and continue with my life.

I live on a five floor, mainly to minimalize the noise from the street. When I smoke outside I look down and thinking about jumping. I kind of wish on my good days to live somewhere lower. On other days it feels good.

I said before that I hate humanity. It’s not anger, its long calm feeling that makes you gag on every sight of it. It’s far back in your mind but still affecting everything you do.

I´m thinking about telling about this all to my parents. But I fear to do that. Because I told so far two people. I have this friend, she is strange. Little narcissistic. She looks at me like a bug she can study. What I always loved about her is that she doesn´t try to change me, she is just interested in me. She just take in all my weirdness and my fucked up head and asks for more. I told her lot about my depression, but I kept most of the things for myself. She isn’t somebody I would go out for a drink but when I need to let my fucked- up me out she is the right person.

My other friend is on the other hand compassionate and kind. We don´t see each other a lot (living far from each other). Thanks to her I visited doctor but I didn´t tell her much. She told me that she used to be on antidepressant too, they started work first day and she took them for a month. That is nice example of their over prescription. She probably needed some kind of placebo because she just ended her job. I´m glad that she is better and anything that was bothering her isn´t anymore.

Anyhow I didn´t tell my parent any of it. I don´t even know their opinion on psychiatric disease. There is a big chance they will don’t understand. But on the other hand is there anybody in this world who will understand? I don´t even understand myself how can I expect other people to do that? I have 24/7 access to my thought and still understand pretty much nothing.

If you wonder if the guy I work with asked me more about my problems, than the answer is no. He was so caught in his own problem that it didn´t even come into his mind. I´m strangely relieved and upset but I don´t blame him.

My mother is perfectionist and wants ideal family, if not real then pretended. She takes in every opinion that have someone else and makes it her own. Did someone talk to her about depression? What did they told her? I can never tell what my mother will think about something because she doesn´t have her opinion, she just stole them from others and because of that they are all over the place.

My father believes that people are supposed to be strong. Its fifty- fifty of either being supportive or tell me to get over it. I don´t want either. I don´t want people to know and treat me different. I just want to be like everybody else. But I´m not and I need to tell others because I cause them pain by my behaviour and I have explanation.

I have this fuck everything attitude. But not the healthy one, I'm king of the world and nothing can stop me. I'm more of I don't care that you are giving me shit because your girlfriend broke up with you, I plan to kill myself after a work and nothing can touch me.

I said that I became someone who no longer wants to live. I don't have that deep seeded instinct to stay away from the danger anymore. And I don't talk about my bad weeks, I mean every day. I just don't have it, I lost it like spare change you are missing and notice only after few months. You don't have any idea where they went, just that you had them when you payed for food and now, two months later are nowhere. Did you buy something? Did someone steal them? Or did just fall from your pocket? Any idea. You just wave your hand and get on with more important things. But I can't do that. I need him back because his absence makes me suicidal even if I don't feel like it. If I actually hurt myself one time would that make it accident or suicide attempt? Don´t have any idea.

I'm one fucking special snow flake.


	8. Chapter 8

World is a strange place. Its full of sorrow and suffering. On some days I think that I´m only one who notices. When you stand on a bus stop and see twenty- something young men in a wheel chair do you wonder what happened to him? When I look around it seems like I´m only one who notices him. People go for a run to support people with cancer. How exactly that supports them? You may raise some money and that is good but what about the individual people? Does anybody sit with them when its three in the morning, they are not sleeping, fever, tears in their eyes while they emitting that little food they managed to eat over the day, gaging on their own stomach acid. Does anybody sit with that young girl that tryes to pull her hair away from the way but forgetting that she lost her to he meds, to her disease?

When young girl comes home, her clothes torn and sharp pain between her thighs, constant reminder what happened that can´t be ignored, shower washing away all the visible marks, and next day make smile on her face when comes to work, does anyone know? She hides all the evidence of that incident but its still there, deep down, slowly devouring her from inside.

Recently I saw video on facebook about girl with cystic fibrosis, she will day before this year passes. I didn´t watched it whole, but I remember her happy smile and optimistic blabbering. People share it because she is so optimistic even through she is dying. Can’t you see we are all dying? Some of us just faster than the others. I would share video of all of you because you are so optimistic whilst dying.

Decaying flesh on crumbling bones.

How can you say we have a soul? What it is? Where it is? In your arm? But when you cut into the human body and severe that part, you can still live, and you say that you have a soul. Leg? Stomach? Lung? Heart? We opened all of them and found nothing. What about the head? Can soul be there? That thing between our ears that makes us move. We opened them and look at the pink mush of flesh and found nothing. We poked into that mush and destroyed pieces of it, and destroyed what makes person, person in the process.

Think about lobotomy, how change in the matter changed who these people were. Where is a place for a soul in that? Did you ever heard about the guy who had rod shot through his head? He changed. About the guy who became podophile because of tumour growing in his brain? Or the guy who killed his mother and wife, and few other people because of his flesh growing where it shouldn´t? Where is the soul? What does that do? Does it change with ours brains or stays the same with our broken flesh?

I wondered about a free will for a while. I had a cup of coffee this morning. Could I have a glass of a orange juice? Sure, I could. But could I? How when It never come to my mind to get myself one? I drink coffee because I need kick in the morning, I´ve been doing that for so long and never though about orange juice. Maybe I will now. Maybe tomorrow I will have glass. I was free to do that every day, meaning nothing was stopping me, but it never come to my mind. How could I do something that never come to my mind? And answer is that I couldn´t do it. I was never in that sense free to have a glass. But my mind changed today, and I was wondering about that. What comes to my mind is a result of what happened. Where is a free will in that? What will happened was given by every single thing that ever happened and if one thing changed, this would be completely different, and I wouldn´t be writing this right now, probably. Maybe I would be worse off, or better off. That doesn´t really matter. I don´t really matter. You don´t really matter. One of the people that exists between all the people living on this earth. One of the billions that live, will live and lived in this world.

How can you believe that everything turns around you? You live your personal drama and think about you, your family, everything that is important for you, but nothing is important. You will die, your family will die, your children and grandchildren will die and everybody that ever remember you will be gone. In thousands of years, every trace of you in this world will be gone and you will be completely annihilated, just like everyone else. What is the point?

I care about people. I cry with their suffering even if they don´t see it and I´m not able to show that. I can´t be by your bed when you are sick, but I care and trust my heart bleeds for you. I wish that you were well, I wish that you were happy, and I wish that you spend all your life laughing in embrace of someone you love. I hate and despite humanity, but I love individuals, I love you.

I love everyone and the worse people the more I wish him good. I don´t believe in free will, we are results of our glitched brains and environment. I love child with Down syndrome that was unlucky during conception and I love serial killer that was unlucky born with bad brain and his mother abused him. And I cry for his victims, I cry for their family and think about who is the blame? His parents were victims of their parents and they theirs. There isn´t probably no one to blame. We are all just victims of this cruel world.

Decaying flesh on crumbling bones.

We are all sentenced to know about our fate and whole our life to know that everyday we are step closer to the dead. To the immense pain we will cause to everyone who holds us dear.

Decaying flesh on crumbling bones.

I wish I was never born because all the pain and suffering in this world weights me down. Am I the only one who carries it? Most days it feels like it. Like I´m the only one who cares about that. So, much pain and so little happiness? Are you happy now? Yes? But my heart bleeds for you still. I cry for happy and I cry for the sad, for the fat and for the starving, for the wealthy and the poor. I cry for everyone and wish you whatever happy fantasy you have. But I still cry because fantasies can never become real. You can live your fantasy but that doesn´t feel as you thought as it would feel and all you are left is a disappointment. But who will be compassioned for you when you are living your dream? How can you complain? I will mourn for you, I will cry for you, whoever you are.

I cry for the starving child, dying form AIDS on sand in Africa and I cry for the wealthy men drinking scotch in his apartment in New York. I cry for you all, but that weight is devouring me, my knees are falling under the weight of the suffering of this world. You can’t see me crushed under the weight but I´m decaying flesh on crumbling bones and dying inside. And dying on the outside. All my cell dividing frantically in their effort to keep me alive, to keep themselves alive. But my brain is broken and some days I can’t cry for you, others cry for myself but that doesn´t really matter.

I´m decaying flesh on the crumbling bones, I´m crying for you and I´m crying for the world. I hope there is more people who will cry for you instead of me. But I know that hopes will get you nowhere, there probably isn´t anyone. I wish that anyone isn´t like me, because it hurts, decaying flesh on the crumbling bones with the brain broken and heart behind so many walls that I´m no longer sure that it is there. Maybe it isn´t, maybe when I broke my brain with my thoughts and make my monster it eaten my heart.

The world is grey an I cry for you. I´m broken and I still cry for you. I´m dying and I still cry for you. We are all decaying flesh on the crumbling bones, we are all broken and lost and deserve the tears.


	9. Chapter 9

I feel like dying today. I'm absolutely rational and calm. I'm not desperate and I don't cry. I know what I want to do and don't see any real reason why I shouldn't. Maybe when I come back home I will do it. There is always that slight change that I change my mind. 

I spend hours watching my veins today. Just watching them and thinking about the red hot blood inside of them. How close they are to the surface and how easy would be to take my razor to them. I would cut and the liquid would surge out and continued to flow till I am too weak to raise my arm, move my fingers, open my eyes, make a easy thought. And I would just slowly dissappeared into the darkness and nothing would ever wake me. 

I want to have this more than hell because only sinners are in he'll,  behind me. I will try to talk myself from it, but it is hard and I agree witw me about what we should do. This could be finally over, today, no more. 


	10. Chapter 10

I dreamed tonight, dream full of turning and make me walk whole night on the thin line between sleep and awake, I dreamed of broken steps.

I walked the stairs, they were steep, steep enough that I needed to crawl on my stomach, and going high, high enough that I couldn´t see the top, he was hidden in the blackness that was dark enough to swallow a fly. But the rest, the walls, the ceiling they were empty, there was nothing there and as much as darkness talked with sweet tongue about swallowing me as the small fly, desert, the emptiness promised nothing, the dissolving and melting of me, the thing that the emptiness don´t want, running down the steps, PISCES of me caught in the cracks and leaving nothing of me in the end. And I didn´t see a way, I crawled up and hoped to see a light, end, finish, anything that could bring my path to the conclusion, that could annihilate, crush to dust the stairs that promised from one direction worse fate than from other. But I was weak, so weak, my throat was crumbling to a thousand PISCES, and falling down from stairs to drain the oceans from every single drop of fluid there is, and I slipped.

My sweaty palms no longer able to hold and I could feel them sliding from the cold- smooth surface of stairs, I slipped down, further and further down, my ribs bouncing from one step to other, dragging the breath from my body and replacing it with pain.

The path was white, white, white, WHITE, lost Wing, frozen Hell, healed Injury, crumbled Tomb, absent Exhale.

Moon was shining, shining enough to blind my eyes, torn away every rod, rip away every cone, burn the retina to ash.

My hair was gone, as my nails, my eyebrows, every hair that used to come from my skin disappeared with my WHITE skin.

And I walked the WHITE road, road of my skin and leaved the red footsteps behind, showing to the world my blind wandering.

From the white cliff of the mountain-

From the red sea of blood, making me lost my mind. From the burning sand to the chilling cloud.

Another day went by, still making me lost my mind.

honest Irony

deserved Anguish, Misery

never-ending Despair, Evil, Agony, Torture, Hackly

soothing Inhuman, Torment, Suffering, Exit, Lullaby, Fray

WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE WHITE 

And the world makes me laugh, LAUGH more than anything else, LAUGH that makes me lose my mind

MY MIND

Never had it before, then why now?

WHY NOW?

UAEBESC I TLOS YM NMID

I NEVER SHOULD HAVE FALL


	11. Chapter 11

Exercise in futility.

For some time I thought that my depression comes from absence of meaning in my life. The thing is that I don´t believe that life can have meaning. In my head word meaning is closely with connected with usefulness. We have extremities to move us around, allow us to affect our surrounding. Meaning of our limbs is that. They have meaning for us because they are part of much bigger unit. They are part of a person. Did you know if you have four limbs you have more than is average? Anyhow for me meaning is connected with usefulness.

But life itself don´t have meaning or purpose because if you decline the existence of God/ other deities/ whatever else that would make us part of something bigger then we are useful for nothing, it only serves itself. Only purpose of life is to create more life.

Our DNA is in its nature selfish and only wants to replicate, create more copies of itself. We are the little containers, that carries them around, that they made to be able to more successfully make more copies.

Sometimes we have some not exactly convenient genes for our survival. Like my depression. I thought about how it could be advantage for survival and I kind of get it. The whole pessimism is healthy when in certain amount.

Something moves behind the bush, optimist will think that is another person, carrying armful of food. What pessimist will think? Wild animal ready to tear him to pieces. Optimist will come to bush, pessimist will run away. Who will survive? This is entirely my theory so don´t take it too seriously. But if in one individual gathers too much of “pessimistic genes”, that meaning little variations in genes that for example regulate level of neurotransmitters, the brain, the fragile thing requiring balance, goes from normal to abnormal.

Maybe only for a few weeks, when something that needs more sources happens and what was before given to keep depression away needs to be somewhere else. You will have the beautiful, torturing phase of acute depression. On the other hand, when your body can´t compensate enough then you have wonderful chronic depression.

Somewhere in that theory should be influence of environment. Environment, or how other people made you crazy. Brain is an amazing mush of flesh, in some aspects is better than computers and they are amazing. But like everything in your body is fragile, you can break your arm and you can break your brain. Still not sure how much is this whole thing my fault.

This whole thing don´t make me feel any better. My every instinct scream at me to stay alive, let my cell divide, my genes duplicate. Make another container for them, grow the lump of flesh in my body till it’s able to survive on its own and for it to give it the best chance to survive. But my broken brain screams that I should die, and my existence is a suffering and exercise in futility.

EXERCISE IN FUTILITY

I´m fine. I´m not in pain, have both parents, place to live, food to shove down to my mouth, mostly comfy bed to sleep in, good educations, green smoothie next to me… What more do I want? Is there anything in this world that could make me feel better. I´m better than ok but still feel horrible. What if I lived in terrible conditions? Would I be better or worse? The thing is that statistic tell me that I would be better. What a fucking irony. If I was starving in Africa right now my brain would be okay. Honestly, I would rather choose that. It is honest, it is easy. Right now, I´m going crazy, I can´t believe my brain, every thought can be just my disease. I would rather that wild animal eats me, just few moments of agony than living like this, slowly being eaten by my disease, torn to pieces, no longer knowing who or what I am. I wish I could actually starve. I deserve that and wish for it.

I believe that I´m worst person that ever lived, there is a serial killer that drilled holes into skulls and injecting acid there, but I still feel like I´m worst. Generals send thousands of soldiers to die for mostly nothing and I still feel worse than them. I rationally know that I´m better person than Hitler but I don´t feel like it. I´m fairly nice person, not Jesus but nice enough when it comes to actions. I never acted on my fucked- up thoughts and flashes of violence, they come with my depression, so I try to believe that they are just part of it. BUT I´M THE WORST PERSON THAT EVER LIVED AND I HATE MYSELF AND DESERVE EVERY PIECE SUFFERING THAT COMES TO MY. I deserve my fucking depression even thought I would rather starve or was killed by sadistic murderer. Even when I think about how I should die they are mostly dead full of pain/ discomfort/ anything else. I wish for painless dead but deserve worse.

My whole experience to this day was exercise in futility

IT WAS ABSOLUTELY USELESS

NOTHING ELSE

WHY?

**WHY?!**

TELL ME

I´M ANGRY AND HATE MYSELF. WORTHELESS PIECE OF SHIT- ME. HOW CAN I PULL SO MAYN PEOPLE THROUHT MY BULLSHIT BECAUSE I´M TOO WEAK TO FINALLY DIE?

I HATE MYSELF FOR WANTING TO DIE, HATE MYSELF FOR STOPING MYSELF FROM THAT, HATE MYSELF FROM NOT DOING IT.

I DON´T KNOW ANYMORE

MY WHOLE HEAD SPLITTED INTO PIECES AND SOME OF THEM ARE LOST FOREVER

I DON´T KNOW ANYMORE

I WANT TO DIE

I DON´T WANT TO COMMIT SUICIDE

I DESPISE MYSELF FOR STILL BEING ALIVE

And another day is going by and I´m still alive and this whole writing was exercise in futility. My whole existence is that.


	12. Chapter 12

I once mentioned that right now I´m standing on the edge of the cliff. I don´t know what to do. I just got my first degree and almost killed myself in the process. In two days I go to check in for a master’s degree. I will do it.

I was always fascinated with life. Recently I was walking under chestnut tree. If it was two years back I would watch crack in the cover, seeing the bright brown under, I would grab him and get him out, just watching the beautiful smooth surface before running my fingers over it and was astonished how uneven is the surface that seemed so silky smooth by eye. I was astonished that when you put it into the ground it will transform itself into the tree, in few years as big as the one I´m standing under. I always took these little fascinating with me, piece of bark, skull of bird, dry leaf, chestnuts which I made little animals from, and other things what I found fascinating. I loved nature.

Anyhow that’s why I went to study biology, what fascinated me most was the inner working, the complex of little machines making together the one whole animal, alive without even a piece of knowledge about how it all works but still working perfectly. How small parts make big parts. When I discovered molecular biology, I was blown away and got degree in that. Another way I loved was parasitology, because the whole life they live is so different from any others. It´s so alien and that makes it more fascinating because there is one purpose and everything they are make sense for that purpose.

And in the three years of the study I discovered Virology and fall in love with it. How just little piece of DNA/ RNA can have so much in them. I loved to think my own way how one product of one gene could invade and take control over the whole cell machinery, the things we know nothing about and this little piece of molecule can fight with it and win. It´s amazing. The whole evolutions, how they came to be. Were they there always? Pieces of genome that rebelled and escape from the original host and are now parasitic molecules? I always imagined that genes like pirates and the capsid as a ship, sailing in this world looking for a loot (good host). Were they cells and were slowly becoming less and less complex? Probably all and I even didn´t mentioned all. And what about the destructive power? Just molecule, able to turn your insides to mush, kill whole cities. Just molecule.

Anyhow, I start my degree in virology and will study bee viruses because I love that just few lousy molecules in few lousy bugs are able to annihilate humans. Of course, that is in the worst possible scenarios.

I still find nature and life fascinating but now the wonders are making me sad and I don´t take them home with me anymore. I don´t want to keep them because I no longer want the feelings that come with them to stay with me, I no longer believe I can hold on anything good in this world. It doesn´t even occurs to me anymore that I could take piece of it home with me.

I will start it and try to save some money, to pay a rent for a few months, start to look for a job. Probably something simple that don´t require much effort, leave the school and start the job and I will spend rest of my life in that job. I still love the virology but no longer want to keep it, if you know what I mean.

I will find an easy job and waste my life away, slowly dying inside because I don´t want anything anymore. I´m dying already and all the effort was wasted, and I don´t have any more to give. I´m tired, so tired and don´t have strength to try for more, for me to get better, because there isn´t anything in this world that could make me better.


	13. Chapter 13

I think people don´t understand what depression is. Just don´t understand how horrible it is. How you can´t trust your thoughts and who you are.

I have chronic depression/ dysthymia/ persistent depressive disorder that is interrupted every few months by major depressive episode, that is called double depression. Hooray, I won the fucking lottery.

Most of time I don´t live. I walk, talk, eat but I´m not really here. Did you ever looked into the mirror and realize that body is staring back at you? Hollow body with nobody inside. Every piece of this body works but I´m not there. When we would meet and accidentally bumped into each other I would say sorry and continue, when you would have grabbed me and started screaming at me I would still feel nothing. You could throw your coffee at me and I would just be watching, feeling nothing. I don´t want anything. I don´t have favourite food, movie, animal.... I just go facing everything, feeling nothing. You don´t feel sad when you heard bad news, you don´t grieve dead of your beloved, in face of injustice you just shrug and feel nothing. It goes the same for the good, my niece was born recently, and I felt nothing, I won some cash and felt nothing, I got my degree and felt nothing. It’s like there is a thick liquid inside of you. It isn´t black or white, it just lacks colour but it’s so thick that no pressure from outside can make waves. I don´t have dreams, wishes or hopes. I´m just I´m. I´m here but I´m empty.

After years it drives you mad. I don´t feel horrible for not crying over dead of my grandma, and for not being happy when my sister was born. I don´t feel guilty but I know that I should. But I´m just not able. I walk through the world at his worst. I´m nothing more than an empty container. It has been years and I wonder how normal emotions are like.

And then it’s the bad weeks, major depressive episodes, only things that I feel. I don´t like to talk about them, I don´t even like to think about them.

You just woke one morning, and you feel like crying, for no reason, there are just tears forming in your eyes and you feel incredibly sad. You want to get out of your bed, but you are not able. Did you ever exercise enough that, when you sit down and after try to stand up again, your muscles fail? It feels like that but it’s your head that is the problem. You are still crying on your side, now feeling even worse because you are not even able to turn on your back, you are weak, you are useless, remember that person you forgot to say hello last year- he still remembers that and bad- mouths you every time he gets, and you deserve it, look at you, crying in bed like a baby because you are too lazy to get out. You are boring, who cares about what you think, some not even mediocre twenty- two years old full of bullshit, who would listen to you, you are just waste of spaces and trash in the ocean, you are ugly and everybody hates you, everyone you call friend are just hanging around because they pity you, you should finally let them out of this bothersome relationship. They all hate you, you are horrible person. Just this all running in your head and you are not able to move and spend hours in your bed crying. Two hours later you go use the toilet and that lets you totally exhausted, so you crawl in your bed again. I starve myself in days like that. I hate myself and deserve that, not like I would have energy to cook or order something. When the night comes, and world comes to sleep you are still awake, not able to sleep and still crying. On nights like that I grab my blade and cut into my flesh. It’s my safety mechanism against suicide. I need the pain because it’s a sharp moment when I´m not in that dark place, my breath of fresh air, drop of water, getting out a little of my need for self- destruction before it bubbles over. I know that’s not healthy but who cares. I NEED to die this whole time, but I try to fight my thought into submission. This goes for few weeks. Just day after day, full of tears, blood, starving and need to die.

And one day, after two weeks, I will wake up feeling nothing and start doing things again. This cycle again and again.

What kind of life is this?

Why not end this?

I should end this.

It sounds rational.

Nothing in this world can make me better and there is only one way out.

I don´t need to die like on my bad weeks but I thought it trough and it seems like what I should do.

I don´t want to kill myself, I just don´t want to feel like this anymore.

But you know… I should just try harder because this is just bad mood what I exaggerated.

Either you are mad, meaning what everybody imagines under mental illness, or you just aren´t sick.

Maybe I´m not. Maybe I´m weak and labile and hysterical.

Doesn´t really matter because I was honest. And living like this seems like a good reason to die.


	14. Shout to health care

I read interesting article about mental illness and the stigma attached to it. They asked number of individuals in my country few questions.

One of them was if they would be ok to live with somebody who has mental illness, 3% said that yes, 11% that probably. Nice numbers. And you have to considerate that mental illness is horrible not only for the person but for the people he lives with. They will get tired and won´t be able to take it anymore. I´m not surprised, I can´t take it anymore too. My guess is that after trying to live with one the numbers would go lower. Maybe I could be homeless to make you all happy.

Another question was about workplace. 4% for definitely yes and 15% for probably. I was thinking about telling people in my job, we are really friendly collective and share a lot (mainly because we are bored a lot but still have to stand in empty shop and watch for customers, so we talk, and we share). There is about 15 of us, then good chance that at least one person gives me hell (probably around twelve but with my luck more). And question was if that bothered them. The numbers would be worse if we talked about being asshole to you because you are ill. I should probably be unemployed to make you more comfortable.

30% of people would allow me to live next to them. Good to know.

And 26% would still be friends with me even if I have personal experience with mental illness. Shout of thanks to my two friends who still tolerate me.

Thank you so fucking much. I know it can be worse but this whole experience was nightmare for me. I visited my doctor classic and he send me to specialist, well he send me to emergency clinic but I wasn´t able to do that.

“Do you have anybody that can give you a ride, TODAY?”

“Yeah” and I already knew that I won´t do it.

So, I called one doctor and nurse told me he has full capacity. And the second one the same. The third one too. The fourth had open appointment, two months from today. And I waited that long for a quick check and pills. Since then I talk with her barely over the email (run out of meds) and every few months I have five minutes of face to face. France invest four times more for mental health care. I don´t blame the doctors (after all they are under-payed and number of people that they attend to is astronomical) but I still needed help. She send me to community service centre, waited three weeks to see them and they told me that I realistically need to wait about a year for an open slot. Only help I got were pills. At least they were cheap. Good fucking job because without a good therapy meds are just mediocre help.

Anyhow I´m in need of a good professional help but get that here is almost impossible. I probably kill myself before getting some real help. On the other hand almost everyone tells me that my disease is my fault and that means that I can mend my brain myself (I broke it I should repair it). I never read self- help book before in my life but it can´t hurt. I started but couldn´t handle the optimistic blabbering, I need to get better to stomach it but I´m still the same. Big fucking help.

I struggle with my disease for my life and 15% of you wouldn´t mind to work with me?

Thank you so fucking much.

Cancer is real. You don´t believe that people caused that to themselves, that they should get treatment and you don´t fucking mind to live with them, work with them or be friends with them.

I´m thinking about telling random guys hitting on me that I´m mentally ill to leave me alone. Thing is that it would work perfectly which is just fucked- up.

What are you afraid of? There is a lot better probability that I kill myself before I kill any of you. Some days I don´t talk much, just come to work and do my job, smile only for the customers. Some days I come few minutes late. How is that problem for you? You came crying last week, four hours late and doing nothing whole day, just grouping other people to listen to you so rest have to work them.

We all have problems and are little fucked- up. Then why is my disease something that makes me outsider? Somebody that should be rejected from work, house and denied relationship. Why? What bothers you so much about me? I´m not crazy. I just need help.

Or I could just kill myself. Sounds better. Easier. Why try? So that you leave me when I tell you the truth? So you can reject me for a job because I´m sick?

I try, but not for you, for myself.

You can all go fuck yourself because I call this a discrimination.

Maybe I tell at my work next week. I´m feeling a little masochistic/ self- destructive and would love to see how I get fired for that. Or maybe slowly pushed out. What will it be?

I feel bitter and want to laugh. We are doing great fucking job as a humanity.


	15. Chapter 15

Today I feel fine. Can you fucking believe it? I'm not talking good day when is everything amazing and sun shines on everything  outside even if it rains. Just fine. I haven't day like this for years. I feel fine. And it makes me happy. 

I'm still little sick of this world, mainly because he just suckss but it no longer makes me want to kill myself. I'm not happy but good things make me happy and bad things sad. 

I love this because I finally feel like myself again. 

Maybe I'm getting better, maybe it's just some one time deal. Doesn't matter. 

Because I know who I'm. I just need to hold on this. It will get bad again, and also too good. But there is still person. I know that who I'm isn't gone. 

I'm still alive and I won't give up until there is someone. 

I'm alive. I'm still here. My bad humour and sarcasm. My love for gory movies and books that give you nightmares. My love for animals and fear of them if they have too many legs (give me puppy with eight and it's still creepy. From zero to four is optimal)I remember this person. That is me goddamit. Long time no see. Welcome back. Plan to stick around for a bit? Or come back soon? Maybe for longer? Please stay. 

Fuck I feel great. I feel like myself again. 


	16. Chapter 16

And I´m fucked up again. Good to know. I don´t even know the person who wore previous chapter. I took my blade and made six new “scratches” on me. Fuck, I´m running out of skin and it refuses to stop bleeding. Shitty day. Shitty life. And I still smell like chloroform.


	17. Chapter 17

I´m going to share something with you. One author whose words makes me feel like I´m not alone. Whose words remind me that I´m sane.

 

_This is the great lesson the depressive learns: Nothing in the world is inherently compelling. Whatever may be really “out there” cannot project itself as an affective experience. It is all a vacuous affair with only a chemical prestige. Nothing is either good or bad, desirable or undesirable, or anything else except that it is made so by laboratories inside us producing the emotions on which we live. And to live on our emotions is to live arbitrarily, inaccurately—imparting meaning to what has none of its own. Yet what other way is there to live? Without the ever-clanking machinery of emotion, everything would come to a standstill. There would be nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to be, and no one to know. The alternatives are clear: to live falsely as pawns of affect, or to live factually as depressives, or as individuals who know what is known to the depressive. How advantageous that we are not coerced into choosing one or the other, neither choice being excellent. One look at human existence is proof enough that our species will not be released from the stranglehold of emotionalism that anchors it to hallucinations. That may be no way to live, but to opt for depression would be to opt out of existence as we consciously know it._

 

When everyone you have ever loved is finally gone. When everything you have ever wanted is finally done with. When all of your nightmares are for a time obscured as by a shining brainless beacon, or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world. When you are calm and joyful and finally entirely alone, then in a great new darkness you will finally execute your special plan.

"One needs to have a plan", someone said who was turned away into the shadows and I had believed to be sleeping or dead.

"Imagine", he said, "all the flesh that is eaten. The teeth tearing into it, the tongue tasting its savour and the hunger that taste. Now take away that flesh", he said, "take away the teeth and the tongue the taste and the hunger. Take away everything as it is. That was my plan, my own special plan for this world."

I listened to these words and yet I did not wonder that this creature I had believed sleeping or dead would ever approach his vision, even in his deepest dreams or his most lasting death. Because I had heard of such plans, such visions, and I knew they did not see far enough. That what was demanded in the way of a plan needed to go beyond tongue and teeth, taste and hunger, beyond the bones and the very dust of bones and the wind that would come to blow the dust away. And so, I began to envision a darkness that was long before the dark of night, and a strangely shining light that owed nothing to the light of day.

That day may seem like other days. Once more we feel the tiny legged trepidations, once more we are mangled by a great grinding fear, but that day will have no others after. No more worlds like this will follow, because I have a plan. A very special plan.  No more worlds like this... no more days like that.

"There are but four ways to die", a sardonic spirit might have said to me.

"There is dying that occurs relatively suddenly, there is dying that occurs relatively gradually, there is dying that occurs relatively painlessly, there is the death that is full of pain. Thus, by various means they are combined, the sudden and the gradual, the painless and the painful, to yield but four ways to die... and there are no others."

Even after the voice stopped speaking I listened for it to speak again. After hours and days and years had passed, I listened for some further words. And yet all I heard were the faintest echoes remind me "there are no others... there are no others...". Was it then that I began to conceive for this world a special plan?

There are no means for escaping this world that penetrates even into your sleep and is its substance. You are caught in your own dreaming where there is no space and are held forever where there is no time. You can do nothing you are not told to do. There is no hope for escape from this dream, that was never yours. The very words you speak are only its very words, and you talk like a traitor under its incessant torture.

There are many who have designs upon this world and dream of wild and vast reformations. I have heard them talking in their sleep of elegant mutations and cunning annihilations. I have heard them whispering in the corners of crooked houses, and in the alleys and narrow backstreets of this crooked creaking universe. Which they, with their new designs, would make straight and sound. But each of these new and ill-conceived designs is deranged in its heart, for they see this world as if it were alone and original... and not as one of only countless others whose nightmares all proceed as a hideous garden grown from a single seed. I have heard these dreamers talking in their sleep, and I stand waiting for them as at the top of a darkened flight of stairs. They know nothing of me and know none of the secrets of my special plan... while I know every crooked creaking step of theirs.

It was the voice of someone who was waiting in the shadows, who was looking at the moon and waiting for me to turn the corner and enter a narrow street and stand with him in the dull gaze of moonlight. Then he said to me, he whispered, that my plan was a mistake. That my special plan for this world was a terrible mistake. 

"because," he said, "there is nothing to do and there is nowhere to go, there is nothing to be and no one to know."

"your plan is a mistake", he repeated.

"This world is a mistake", I replied

The children always laughed at him, when they saw him hopping by. A funny walk, a funny man. A funny funny funny man. He made them laugh sometimes, he made them laugh oh yes, he did he did he did he did he did. Oh, how he made them roll. One day he took them to a place he knew, a special place, and told them things about world... this funny funny funny world, which made them laugh sometimes. He made them laugh, oh yes, he did he did he did he did. Oh, how he made them roll. Then the funny man who made them laugh, sometimes he did, revealed to them his special plan his very special funny plan. Knowing they would understand and maybe laugh sometimes. He made them laugh, oh yes, he did he did he did he did, their eyes grew wide beneath their lids... and how he made them roll.

I first learned the facts from a lunatic in a dark and quiet room that smelled of stale time/space.

"There are no people, nothing at all like that. The human phenomenon is but the sum of densely coiled layers of illusion each of which winds itself upon the supreme insanity that there are persons of any kind, when all there can be are mindless mirrors laughing and screaming as they parade about in an endless dream."

But when I asked the lunatic what it was that saw itself within these mirrors, he only rocked and smiled, then he laughed and screamed and in his dark and empty eyes I saw for a moment, as if in a mirror, a formless shade of divinity in flight from its stale infinity of time and space, and the worst of all of this worlds dreams. My special plan for the laughter and the screams.

We went to see a little show that was staged in an old shed past the edge of town, and in its beginnings, all seemed well. The miniature curtain stage glowed in the darkness while those dulls bounced along on their strings before our eyes. And in its beginnings, all seemed well, but then there came a subtle turning point, which some had noticed, and I was one... and quietly left the show, though I did not because I could see where things were going. As they antics of those dulls grew strange, and the tiny strings grew taught with the tiny pullings of tiny limbs. I wanted to witness what could never be, I wanted to see what could not be seen... the moment of consummate disaster when puppets turn to face the puppet master.

It was twilight and I stood in the greyish haze of a vast and empty building when the silence was enriched by a revurberant voice.

"All of the things of this world", it said, "are of but one essence for which there are no words. This is the greater part which has no beginning nor end, and the one essence of this world for which there can be no words is but all the things of this world. This is the lesser part which has a beginning and shall have an end, and for which words were conceived solely to speak of."

" The tiny broken beings of this world, " it said

"The beginnings and endings of this world, " it said

"for which words were conceived solely to speak of. Now removed these words and what remains?" It asked me as I stood in the twilight of that vast empty building, but I did not answer. The question echoed over and over, but I remained silent until the echoes died. And as twilight passed into evening, I felt my special plan for which there are no words, moving towards a greater darkness.

There are some that have no voices, or none that will ever speak, because the things they know about this wold,

because the things they feel about this world,

because the thoughts that fill a brain that is a damaged brain,

because the pain that fills a body that is a damaged body,

exist in other worlds, countless other worlds. Each of which stands alone in an infinite empty blackness for which no words have been conceived and where no voices are able to speak. When a brain is filled only with damaged thoughts, when a damaged body is filled only with pain, and stands alone in a world surrounded by infinite empty blackness and exists in a world for which there is no special plan.

When everyone you have ever loved is finally gone. When everything you have ever wanted is finally done with. When all of your nightmares are for a time obscured as by a shining brainless beacon, or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world. When you are calm and joyful and finally entirely alone, then in a great new darkness you will finally execute your special plan.

When everyone you have ever loved is finally gone. When everything you have ever wanted is finally done with. When all of your nightmares are for a time obscured as by a shining brainless beacon, or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world. When you are calm and joyful and finally entirely alone, then in a great new darkness you will finally execute your special plan.


	18. Chapter 18

There is a one thing that people don´t talk about much. Even people who go through depression. I don´t know if it just my experience but anyhow I try to talk about it.

When you walk, and you feel like the floor is so fragile that one hard step can shatter to the thousand pieces. The world itself is that fragile. People, the faces they all seems like a masks and don´t feel like they are real. You just past the dolls with masks and try not the shatter your world. You don´t feel, like if someone shoved your consciousness into the robot. You are here but all you feel is the reflection of empty space. Everything in the world is, like it always was. Whatever you do you are still only reflection of empty space. And then you realize one important thing. Everything is the same, anything in this world doesn´t hold any worth or desire. It all stops make sense when you are denied the emotional experience, when you denied the veil, the fore that changes the reality into something else in our heads.

When you come back after that and you can feel again that knowledge is still there. Buried deep in your head. I saw the reality that was cleared all the illusions that my brain makes and I sometimes come back and I´m scared shittles of that place, I can´t sleep at night with fear that the next day I woke up unfeeling again but that doesn´t matter because even if you don´t sleep you slowly shift back, sleep deprivations getting to you and you have to sleep eventually.

I know that sometimes is my world distorted, on my bad days the way I see myself or the world is not realistic. But not on days like this. I see the world how it is really is, not better, not worse, just real, stripped of everything beside what it is.

And even if I get better there is nothing that could erase this knowledge. I saw the real world and have nightmares from it. I want all the illusions back, because live in a real world is to live in purgatory, trapped in a doll and reflecting empty space.


	19. Chapter 19

Strange thing happened to me few days back. I went for a walk because I was feeling like a shit. I looked on my phone for a moment but when I looked back I saw big black dog running towards me and leaping on me. I remembered distinctly that he was running towards me. When I recoiled back in fear for the hit nothing came. When I looked before me there was just small twig going from bush and was dangling few foot before me. My fuck up brain just couldn´t handle that I looked suddenly on a fucking twig and screw that up. I still remember the dog and it feels like it was real and need to bring myself to the moment after that to remind myself that it wasn´t real. I sometimes have things like that. Just my brain not being able to handle some things. When someone shows me some new object I need to look on it and from it several times to get accurate picture how it looks. Colours, shapes, surface, material. Sometimes digits shift or words in the books don´t make any sense to me. Not big deal.

Anyhow about what I wanted to share is an ocean in my ear. Soft noise of flowing liquid. Just in one ear, like when you put an ear on the sea shell and listen. It didn´t really bothered me at the beginning but it’s been twelve hours now and my head hurt like hell. I would take some aspirin but guess what? I can´t. My pills have slight anticoagulation effect and so has aspirin. I have really small coagulation mutation on my own and therefore I can take only one pills that screw that up.

So that’s me today. My anxieties not let me out of the room and I ate bread the whole day even though I carve chocolate. I´m not sure if this is a problem. When it didn´t disappear soon I will tell my doctor about that. Maybe its side effect of pills. Or just a new part of my fucked-up brain. First, I can´t believe what I think, then what I see and now what I hear. What the fuck is happening?


	20. Chapter 20

I'm just on my way to visit my home town and my family. I'm not sure how it got me thinking about high school but it did.   
I'm all fucked up now and was thinking about that far away time that seems like a dream now. In my head I did from time before unreachable illusion that didn't happened but truth is something different. It always is.   
I was studying to be a nurse. The time in hospital with people was a struggle for me. At that time I lied myself and told myself all sorts of lies. About how it's just me, my personality disorder (I always knew), that the struggle was just about my problems to connect with another human beings. But it wasn't. It was slap of reality. I was in shock by all the sick people. Every room of every floor of every building. Every one of them full of human misery and suffering. Every one of them full of desperate wish to live but dying anyway. The halls had cold breath that brought tears to my eyes and made to break down every night.   
I think that I always was very centered on all the bad things. I had a teacher, she was absolutely amazing. Two jobs, helping handicapped children, great children and husband. But was so compasionated, like she understood me on deep level.   
Back then I felt the weight of human existence and was struggling to keep standing. I tried to act like I don't felt it but it was showing, in side muttered words and empty look. That teacher always when caught something of that said my name with so much saddnes and pity. But her pity wasn't making me angry because I felt that she understands. That she is like me. That she feels it too and knows how hard is it to be.   
For a three years I tried to burry all that things I saw. Now are they coming back and I can't ignore them anymore.   
This world is full of suffering and we are able to take it only because of our brains changing harsh reality into illusions. I don't want illusions. I want reality where we don't suffer and die peacefully with our loved ones by our side. Reality where there aren't words like rape and torture because there isn't need for them. World that is true to what it is. People die and people feel. Let's make the time we have bearable and even happy for some times.   
But this reality is shit full of people living inside of their heads and stepping on others for useless thing they don't need. They don't acknowledge the suffering and therefore all this people keep struggling alone and deserte. When you no longer able to keep the illusion that humanity is living, you are outsider. You are no longer part of the "healthy" society. You are pushed aside and your opinions no longer matters.   
That is the reason for all this unnecessary suffering. We are ruled by asholes full of illusions and the world in their heads don't mirror the reality. That's why are humans fucked and destined to extinction. In the end we live in a real world even if we don't see it.


	21. Chapter 21

I have very mixed feeling about suicide and I don´t think about all the stuff society tells you. I already said that what I want is a nonexistence and suicide is only a way to reach it.

There is no free will.

There is no meaning of life.

We all going to die.

We all going to suffer before we die.

That are the facts of life. That is the reality stripped of illusions and fantasies. Nonexistence is better that life because no amount of happiness can excuse the suffering. My depression forced me to see it.

I don´t know what to do anymore. I want to die. Even on my good days because I still know these facts and there is no escaping it. I´m tired and hundred percent sure I want to die. If they would tomorrow offered me painless way out I would take it.

The thing about suicide that makes me cry is that it’s the same thing as living. I´m not sure if you understand. Not sure if anyone understand. The desperations in the background.

My friend told me to get myself institutionalize. My father told me that I´m innocent. I laughed on both of them. And I cried later in night. Because one of them is right and second wrong, because none of them knows shit about me to say that. I won´t ever go in hospital because I won´t let anyone to take away from me my only way out. I can´t do that. I know that I will commit suicide and the day is coming closer. My determination and frustration is growing stronger and I´m sicker of this world then ever before.

When my father told me that I´m innocent it hurt. It still hurts. I don´t know why. Well I know. He doesn´t have any idea, any personal experience, nothing about what I´m facing right now. When I would show him what I wrote he would laugh at me. I´m sure (and that is not my depression talking). Maybe he wouldn´t laugh at my face if I told him this is what I feel, but now I know what his idea about mental illness is. I´m hysterical, overreacting, labile, self- cantered, lazy and weak. It hurt. I´m just sucking money out of system because I can made up disease. It hurt. There isn´t any comparison, maybe something about being gay and listening to your homophobic father. My life is falling apart and want to kill myself. But I´m making it all up for some reason. I know that he doesn´t know, that is on me, but thanks to that he was completely honest with me. It hurt. I´m not even angry at him, I´m too tired for that. Everything just makes little pieces of me die and there isn´t much more.

I´m ready to die.

But not read to commit suicide, not yet, maybe tomorrow or my next very bad day. I always feel like a shit after visit with my family.

For all who are reading,

Hi. How you maybe noticed by my cold body laying on the floor I´m dead. I killed myself and don´t understand why that needs apology. That is probably the reason why.

To my parents. You screwed me. You just did. I don´t blame you but fuck you. My beloved alcoholic dad, I hope that when you were a kid your father didn´t beat you. To my mother who was screaming, crying and throwing bowls at me, I hope your parents treated you better. I don´t remember much of you from my childhood because you weren’t there, just the moments of rage and screaming. That is how I remember you. You weren´t there when I had my first job at thirteen, you weren’t here when I broke my arm, when I was sick and when I graduated. I raised myself. That is a fact. You know nothing of me and I know nothing of you. We are strangers that were living in the same house for fifteen years. I used to run away at nights because I wanted to leave but come back because I didn´t have anywhere to go. Thanks for giving me meal a day and roof over my head. Thanks for letting me starve when you left for holiday twice a year. You taught me very important thing, nobody in this world gives a shit about you, and that is one of the most important and hard things to know.

To my brother. I used to hate you because parents gave you attention, money, take you on holidays and never hit you in your live. I don´t do anymore. Later, lots of my problems with parents came from my anger and even later from me not giving a shit about anything they do. In some sense I feel like I´m the one better off. I wish you happy life with your girlfriend and apartment next to our parents.

To my sister. Sorry I resented you for having parents and being spoiled. Just sorry. I don´t know you and you don´t know me. You shouldn´t feel guilty when you won´t grieve.

To my friends who know me. This isn´t your fault and there is nothing you could do. There just isn´t. Sorry I put a lot of shit on you with my problems. Sorry I wasn´t better friend.

To my friends who don´t know. Doesn´t matter. I´m just another person you used to know and now is fading away in your memory. Please feel like you would felt if we just never get to see each other again. Like I´m alive but not no longer important for you because the truth is that I´m not.

I´m selfish but I´m tired and I can´t do it anymore.

PS: Call to my work that I won´t be coming anymore, that same for lab (sorry to amazing ….. and ……, thanks for everything and again I´m sorry), and my second job (he will probably figure out when I won´t reply that I no longer work for him). My things are in my dormitory (number of room is on keys in my smiley case with meds in my bag, ask my roommates if they want something and let them take whatever they want. If I stop sending them money, they will throw my things away in three months so you can let it solve itself).

What can I say? I never could be honest when I lived, maybe when I´m dead is a good place to start.


	22. Chapter 22

Still not dead. Wish I was. I told my doctor about the sea in my ear and headaches and now I am on half of my original dosages. I thought that they are doing nothing but now I woke up every day feeling worse and worse. I can be much worse of. Much much worse. Now I am just drowning but before the blackness was surrounding my body and forced its way into my lungs to suffocate me. And I am heading back to that place. I went ahead and get back to high dosage with one of my ADP (after making sure that isn't just withdraw symptoms) hoping that will do the trick (no hallucinations and headaches but keeping me together). If it comes back I switch between them and will be on high dosage of the other and augment with the first.   
Anyhow I'm coming out of depression closet. I went home for a weekend and my mother went through my bin after I left and found empty package of my meds and she googled it. Which tells you a lot about my mother. I had very pleasent phone conversation with her and answered lot of guestion that were mostly mean to find out if I have paranoid schzofrenia without saying it at loud. After I told her three times that I have depression she told me to go for a trip with them. Next phone call I got advise to buy myself vitamins. I tried hard to explain her that I lack energy and that little I have I need to invest into my day and doing something healthy for myself, not to sooth her insecurities (I was nice about it told it way that she shouldn't be upset). She is mad at me anyway. I remember one line she told me "I know you have it hard", in that mocking and fed up tone of voice. I hear very similar voice in my down days, when I hate myself for my self-pitying.   
Another person who knows is my thesis leader. She confronted me about my lack of presence. I said that I have depression and that I'm working on getting my shit together. She just nodded mummbled "another one" in sad tone and went along with the things. Which is nice reaction. It sucks, I am not lazy and selfish and that isn't excuse, it's explanation when I'm shitty at my work because I'm in a shitty place.   
My mother probably told my whole family. Fuck. Way to come out.


	23. Chapter 23

My medication is mostly fine. High dosage of two antidepressants and I can function. Great.  
I still think that I am crazy. And I don't mean it some kind of self hatred induced bulshit spouting. I mean it in calm long term experience that allows you emotional neutrality and honesty.  
I saw a high roof today and was extasic on thought of me jumping down. I almost started to bang my head on the wall and laughing like a maniac. I don´t have any idea why it just came to  me. Almost punched my roomate into the face because she watches me and tries to speak to me. Almost flipped of my psychiatric and said that I am watching her and know what she plans even through I don't have any idea. I almost stabed my coworker but managed to turn it into a joke but he was still pretty terrified because he knows... well he knows me.  
And all of the above I didn't do. I didn't kill myself and didn't harm anybody else. I think that I am able to function in society pretty well with my level of crazy. My level of insanity because why the hell don't call it that. I'm little insane, and probably more then little.  
And I am still proud of myself because I didn't do any of that crazy- insane stuff.

Today strange thing happened to me. I was sitting in a bus, heading to work and I lost time. I just get in sit down and then next thing I know I´m two stops after the right one. I know its not a big deal but I still feel uneasy about it. It is just fifteen minutes but its more. It scares me how easy I just fadded away into nothing. I wonder what my body did. Did "I" had closed eyes? Did "I" say something? It just reminded me how much this whole ME illusion is dependent on proper function of my brain. Maybe one day I will fade away and never come back. What would my body do? Is it how catatonia is born? I have so many questions and I feel... unright?... not exactly wrong but not right either. 

I still see and hear things. I had ten minutes long argument with my coworker about if music is still on. It wasn´t. I just hear fucking music. I found that out back home because the music was still playing and it sounded little like a Nickelback. After that I felt little nostalgic and went to listen some of their songs. Colours change all the time. I think that my sweater is dark purple- grey but I swear it was blue- grey when I brough him. I just look at everything several times because most of the time the first thing i see is wrong.

I woke up three days ago feeling like a shit so I just went on with my day but friday was (mostly) free so I stayed home whole day, crying. It is just fucking ridicilous. Crying for nothing. I know that there is no reason but I can´t stop it. 

When I had cold I was drinking hot tea, coughting and blowing my nose behind cash register. I was contangious and no one said a world. And it went away in a few days. When I´m depressed I should be allowed to cry behind register. People can´t even catch it. Why I can´t cry in work when I´m allowed to be sick in other ways?

Anyhow I was late for work. My excuses are getting better and better. Couldn´t stop crying in the morning. I have new pills and they knocked me out for a twelve hours straight. I wanted to kill myself and needed time to do it after work. Wasn´t able to leave my room till my "chill" pills kicked in. I felt paranoid today and used new path to get here (it just takes twenty minutes longer with some waiting behing corners). I lost time on my way here.

Is it just me or am I little psychotic? There is something like psychotic depression because why the fuck not. When you go crazy, go all out. 


End file.
